Letters Kept
by LuxAmbrose
Summary: Harry takes his watch over camp and continues his nightly ritual. He discovers that understanding his feelings and communicating them are two very different things as he discovers where his home truly lies. A one-shot peek into book 7.


**A/N: So I saw Eclipse the other night while I did enjoy the movie (judge all you want) I think the most exciting part of the whole adventure was seeing the trailer for HP and the Deathly Hallows! Seriously I was freaking out the whole time and my roommate thought I was totally crazy. (Apparently being twenty-three means I can't get fan-girlishly excited about HP anymore!) Anywho, this is a little snap shot of Harry during his never-ending camping adventure in celebration that in a few short months DH will be brought to life!**

**This is based off the song "Home" as performed by Michael Buble. Just a little one-shot for your reading pleasure. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own HP, nor do I own the song that inspired it (though it is in my top ten favorite songs!)**

Letters Kept

"Ronald if you're going to fall asleep during watch then come get Harry or I to take your place!" Hermione's voice drifted from the tent flap. Anxious and high strung as always she ran her hands over her bushy hair as she strode back into the tent. Through tired eyes, Harry could see how tired she was; dark circles ringed beneath her eyes and despite their best efforts at keeping with hygiene, her hair was longer and frizzier than he'd ever seen. "I hate nights he has that stupid locket," she grumbled.

From his seat on the lower bunk bed, Harry was silent a moment and observed as she went back to the corner she'd been occupying. A huge atlas on England's magical community was open before her and she had a pad of muggle sticky notes. He could see her heave a sigh as she scribbled notes and stuck them to various pages, marking places they'd been, places she wanted to try and also the locations where they were most likely to be caught. All in all it was a terribly bleak outlook but he still had to give her grudging respect for staying at it.

He was toying with the snitch Dumbledore had given him, tossing the ball up and catching it with deft fingers. A brief image of his father flashed behind his eyes but he tried to block it out. Thinking of his parents only increased the desire to go to Godric's Hollow, the one of the places Hermione was adamant they avoid. Irritation bubbled in the back of his throat as he thought briefly about mentioning it to Hermione. Already he could hear her retort. "We could check the Fogshead, it's a small village about twenty miles east of here," she suggested halfheartedly. "The distillery for Ogden's Old Firewhiskey is there."

Both of them knew it was another desperate suggestion piling on the dozens they'd already tried. Chuckling from his place on the bunk, Harry shrugged his shoulders. "Voldemort is a lot of things Hermione, but I don't think he's a drunk."

Sighing she rounded her shoulders in defeat and nodded. "I know, keeping a sober head is probably quite important for arduous tasks such as overthrowing the ministry and killing muggles." The distaste in her voice mirrored the sentiment in his heart. In an attempt to lighten the situation he jerked his thumb toward the tent flap.

"Still, might not be bad to stop by and pick up a case. A the very least we could lighten Ron up for a spell." His joke had done the trick and her mouth turned up in a smile that carried the faint traces of disapproval.

"That's not funny Harry," she said though her lips were quivering.

Flopping back on the bed he chuckled. "Probably not, though it might be funny to watch him pull a muggle trick and put a lampshade on his head." Again his intention hit its mark and she gave a laugh, setting her sticky notes down. Although the laugh was weak, Harry would take it. Finding cheer amidst their rather bleak and thus far fruitless mission counted as a small victory in his book.

Suddenly the tent flap pulled back and Ron stormed in. The locket was hanging heavy on his flat chest and a scarf was wrapped tightly around his neck. "It's bloody cold outside and I still can't stay awake. One of you take the rest of watch. I can't worry about that shite while I'm half starved." Almost immediately the air went stale again.

Masking his sigh, Harry rolled off the bunk and got to his feet. Hermione watched pensively from her seat and out of the corner of his eye Harry noted she was clutching her wand. A frown turned at the corners of his mouth, she'd had to intervene too much lately when Ron or himself went too far. Determined to avoid a fight with Ron as he was, Harry grabbed his rucksack and started for the doorway. "No worries, I'll finish yours and move on to mine," he said and without another word or glance at his friends went outside.

A sharp wind whipped at his hair as he hurriedly dug into his sack for his heaviest jacket. October was presenting a rather unpleasant preview of the winter to come. As he settled onto the hard ground for another long watch he thought with longing of what was happening at Hogwarts now. Frowning he shook his head of the thought and turned rather to the Hogwarts of his memory. Perhaps a fire would be roaring in the common room and he would have been on one of the couches, avoiding his homework and enjoying the end of another long school day.

Hermione and Ron would be there, both in good spirits and happily chatting about something mundane. Perhaps bantering about elf rights or Ron would be trying to teach Hermione more about quidditch, either way Harry didn't care so long as they weren't fighting. With a flop of his stomach Harry knew Ginny would be there too, nestled against his side with her head resting on his shoulder. Reclining further into the sofa he would have his arm about her body and she would be laughing at some rather spectacular joke he'd told her. One of his hands would be threaded in her wonderful thick hair and the other resting on her knee.

That place, that moment with Ginny was more home to him than any other feeling or memory in the world. Harry could go to a hundred different places of welcome and still not feel the same way he felt when he was with her. If there was ever such a person as 'the one' that he'd so often heard about, Harry knew it was she. Those strong feelings, that love was what made him know that if they both survived this war he'd marry her as soon as he could.

Sounds of birds cawing overhead caught Harry's attention. Regretfully he pulled himself away from his dream state and already he could hear the low voices of Hermione and Ron drifting from the tent. What they were talking about he didn't know nor did he much care as he reached for his rucksack. Opening the drawstring he dug around until he found what he was looking for, a small writing desk with parchment and ink.

A comfortable routine had been established for him during his watch. Pulling a fresh sheet of parchment from the holder, he poised his quill at the top of the page. For a moment he tried to remember what day it was. Rubbing his hand over his chin he noted that he hadn't shaved in what had amounted to

over a week and he was sporting the beginnings of a rather impressive beard.

_October 1997_

_Dear Ginny,_

_ We're camped in the middle of the woods again. We didn't have much for dinner, as we are incapable of finding villages that aren't being watched. Ron was almost caught by a dementor three days ago trying to nick some eggs from a barn. So now we're back to foraging for mushrooms and whatever Hermione can come up with. _

_ How is Hogwarts? I was thinking the other day that quidditch season must be coming up. _

Frowning Harry re read his few lines with a scowl. If he could have sounded more impersonal he would have started talking about the weather. This letter wasn't to Professor McGonagall; it was to Ginny _his _Ginny. Drawing a breath he dipped his quill in ink again and started underneath his pathetic attempts.

_The truth is that I miss you. Every time we get ourselves in a tight spot or we start to fight I think about how easily you break the tension. Sometimes I wish you could have come with us, just so I would have someone to talk to at the end of the day that doesn't resent my lack of ideas or thinks I've gone and jumped off the deep end. I don't know where this mission is going to take us, and I don't even know if I'm going to survive but I know I want to see you at least one more time before the end of all of this. _

_ I don't know what you're up to, and if you're even at school but I know wherever you are that you are safer than with me. Every day I think about you and hope you're being strong and taking care of yourself. You should know that I love you and miss you all the time. _

Harry set his quill down and grumbled at his parchment. Even that didn't sound right. Why is it that he could recognize in himself how important Ginny was to him but he couldn't say it in words to her? Nothing he wrote felt like it was enough to appropriately convey how much he wanted to see her, how wonderful it would be to hold her in his arms again. With a chuckle he noted that he would even take fighting with her over being apart.

Carefully he began to fold the parchment before pausing. Picking up the quill he scribbled a salutation on the bottom of the unfinished letter.

_I love you, Harry_

Folding the letter he tucked it into a parchment envelope and scrawled her name across the front. Sighing he turned the letter over in his hands once more before pulling the moleskin pouch from under his shirt. Opening the seemingly never-ending bag he pulled a thick stack of letters from the depths, secured by a length of shoelace. Untying the knots he set his most recent letter on top of the stack and re-secured the bundle.

One day he hoped that he would have the opportunity to tell her how much he loved her and that she was home to him. This night though he stored the letters back in the pouch and settled it beneath his shirt once again. For a long moment he took his time putting away the writing desk in the rucksack and got to his feet. He poked his head in the tent long enough to put away the sack.

Across the way Ron was snoring lightly from the bottom bunk and Hermione was leaning against the bunk with a book propped against her knees. Ron's hand was still resting against the curve of her shoulder where her neck began. A faint smile toyed at Harry's lips as he drank in the silent moment of peace. Looking up she gave him a soft smile before turning back to her book.

"You should give her those letters the next chance you get," said Hermione off handedly with a knowing tone.

With a half grin, Harry shrugged his shoulder and ducked out of the tent. Settling back onto the hard grin he turned his eyes up to the star, partially obscured by the rolling clouds. "Maybe one day," he said to himself. "One day I'll be home."

**Just a little H/G fluff! I've never actually written from Harry's point of view and that's the first time I've ever written the trio all at once. I hope you don't find anything in there as Ron bashing…I was just trying to take it from the perspective that JKR presented in book 7. Anyway, if you liked it just post a review, after all they are love! Brose.**


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